Think of the Steel Brakes
by 3466-0402
Summary: Prompt: Arthur and Lancelot take a spin in a Lamborghini. In which Arthur doesn't listen to Lancelot's nerdy car speeches and is, perhaps, not quite as sorry as he should be. Arthur/Gwen, one-sided Lancelot/Gwen


**A/N: I know nothing of cars. Mock not my lack of car knowledge! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing… **

**9 (Arthur) and 10 (Lancelot) take a spin in a Lamborghini.**

* * *

'Wow,' Arthur says, and because it doesn't seem enough, he blinks, inhales, and says 'wow' again. Lancelot smirks up at him from the window of his bright red (red, Arthur thinks, what.) and obscenely shiny Lamborghini and leans out, pressing his elbows to the sill.

'Like it?' Lancelot asks, and Arthur thinks that yes, he likes it a lot, but honestly, red sports cars are awfully cliché. Also, Lancelot's (very pointy) elbows are beginning to dig into the side of the car. Arthur wonders if the car will dent and thinks that he'd be sort of glad if it does because Lancelot isn't exactly his favourite person.

'It's wonderful,' he tells Lancelot, and Lancelot grins. 'It's got ten V90° cylinders, four DOHC valves and a common-pin crankshaft!' he says, 'and its maximum power's 412 kW at 8000 rpm! Isn't that amazing?' Arthur nods, because he isn't really a car person and he doesn't know what DOHC valves are. But he assumes that having four of them must be really good. And besides, it's a _Lamborghini_. 'And it accelerates from 0-100 km/h in four seconds! That's, like, the coolest thing ever, isn't it? And steel brakes, Arthur, _steel_.' Lancelot nods empathetically.

Arthur stands a little awkwardly beside the car, because sure, the car looks really nice, but he really doesn't know what to say. Lancelot mistakes his silence for the urge to drive the car, because he's a little silly that way, and so he hops out and offers Arthur the driver's seat. Arthur blinks, because it seems appropriate and he hadn't actually wanted to drive the car. But he slides into the driver's seat anyway, because it's a _Lamborghini_ and how often does one get to drive a _Lamborghini_?

The seat is, as expected, made of the finest leather and Arthur can feel himself sinking comfortably into the seat like a lump of melted cheese. He strokes a hand over the steering wheel, fingers the golden bull on the horn and turns to find Lancelot gazing expectantly at him.

'Yes?' Arthur says, because Lancelot looks a little like a rabid hamster.

'You're supposed to step on the accelerator. To make it move,' Lancelot points out, and Arthur thinks oh, and slams his foot down on the accelerator. It turns out to be a bad idea, and perhaps Arthur should have listened a little more closely to Lancelot's Lamborghini speech, because the car shoots forward like an arrow and reaches a hundred kilometres per hour in about four seconds.

'The brakes the brakes step on the BRAKES!' Lancelot screeches and he's clinging onto the edge of his seat with white-knuckled fingers. Oh hell, Arthur says to himself, and with the steering spinning out of control, he jams on the brakes and sends the _car, ohgod_, spinning out of control.

It's all yelling and swerving the next few seconds, Lancelot grabbing for the wheel and Arthur grabbing for the seat. Lancelot's elbows are flying all over the place and one of them jabs Arthur in the eye, which hurts quite a lot. It doesn't help control the car either, and they hit a tree with a mighty crash that would have had them flying out had they not been buckled in.

'Oh,' Lancelot says, as the airbag in his face gives a sad little _poof_ and deflates when a sharp twig stabs it in the side. '_Oh_, ohmygod.' Arthur's face is mooshed into his own airbag and he can't hear or speak very well, so he doesn't respond. He imagines Lancelot's reaction though, and feels a little sorry for him. Then he yelps in shock when the seat wobbles and collapses against the dented door. 'Oh,' Lancelot says, and Arthur glances at him. He's staring at the steering wheel in Arthur's hands with a vaguely vacant expression and Arthur realises it isn't where it's supposed to be attached to.

'I wanted to take Gwen out. For a date. In this car. And do you even have a licence.'

Arthur tries not to scoff and fails (Lancelot doesn't notice), because Gwen isn't the sort of person interested in money and power and _Lamborghinis_. Lancelot doesn't understand that; he tries and tries again to win Gwen's attention with pretty diamonds on gilded rings and promises of a better life, if only she'd chose him over Arthur.

Arthur scoffs again, more loudly this time, and stops feeling sorry for Lancelot.

'My car…' Lancelot whispers, and Arthur reaches out to pat him on the back in what he hopes isn't too cheerful a manner.

'At least we're still alive,' Arthur points out, and he hands Lancelot the steering wheel before leaping out of the wreck and heading home. Lancelot, he knows, won't make him pay for the damage and he feels _justalittle_ guilty for crashing the car. It's not like had done it on purpose though, and he half wishes he had.

Guilt swirls within his chest like a typhoon and Arthur concludes that he'll probably end up paying anyway; for his honour and nothing more.

*****M*****

Gwen isn't the sort of person with an eye on gold and silver. She doesn't care for them; prefers her simple life where everything is made of tin and iron cast by the love within her family and the burn of the sun on their skins.

She cares nothing for pretty jewellery and precious stones, and cares nothing for the men who offer them to her. _Idiots, the lot of them_, she thinks, because her love is worth more than what they give.

When the doorbell rings, Gwen is sure that it's Lancelot come back with yet another gift in hand or another expensive car in tow. She considers ignoring him (or telling him to bugger off with a bat to the head) because she's getting tired of the way Lancelot thinks that her affections can be bought with money. But she doesn't, for some reason, and when she opens the door (she didn't even bring a bat along with her), she finds Arthur stood on the other side.

He clutches hand-picked flowers in one hand (she knows that they're hand-picked because she still sees clods of dirt clinging to the roots of the blossoms) and a pretty card in the other, an awkward and completely genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Giving him a smile of her own, Gwen accepts the gifts and accepts his hand and lets him lead her to the battered Nissan parked in the driveway.

The seats of the car are rickety, the acceleration isn't smooth, and the restaurant he takes them to isn't really any good at all. They go for a long walk after the meal to clear their heads of the strange taste of the food, and Arthur's hand in a solid warmth in her palm. 'You're beautiful,' he tells her, and Gwen has never felt more beautiful before.

Later, when they are sprawled comfortably in the grass and watching the stars together, Gwen knows without a doubt that it's the best night that she's ever had.

* * *

**A/N: The end didn't turn out very well but anyway. Hope that you enjoyed (or hated, though I hope that it's the former) the fic enough to review! **


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